Petronius laughed dismissively, then fell silent. Helena Justina's wild ideas had a way of turning themselves over in your head so they soon seemed completely rational. I myself had stopped even thinking they were wild. I had known her to be right too many times.

Petro tried looking at me as if I were daft either to share information with my girlfriend, or to indulge her mad suggestions. Eventually this palled too. `Suppose that was right, Falco. Suppose Lalage did want to take over running the gangs. Why would she kill Nonnius?'

`She hated him. She had scores to settle. He had leaned on her too heavily when he was collecting for Balbinus. And then he left her with the problem when the Lycian was murdered at Plato's. Besides, if she is ambitious, maybe Nonnius guessed that and tried to apply pressure. He could have blackmailed her and demanded a cut. Since he'd already squealed once in court, he was a formidable threat; he only had to say he would inform on her too. She'd know he could very well mean it.'

`True.'

We were both uneasy. There was not enough to go on. We could only speculate. And although we were both good at making the facts fit in a situation, there was always the unexpected waiting to confound us. Like me, Petro had probably lost count of the times he had found out that the facts he had been working on for months were only marginal. The final story could be wildly different from any theories he had so carefully pieced together.

`Want any more to eat?'

I shook my head. `No thanks. I had to leave without even saying good morning to Helena. If nothing else turns up, I'll be going home for lunch. Won't you?

'Suppose so.'

My question had been ironic. I knew Petro always ignored lunch. He went home for dinner with his children in the evening, and sometimes he slipped off if there was a definite household job to do, like mending a window. He enjoyed carpentry. Otherwise,' Petronius Longus was the type whose domestic life ran smoothest when he stayed out part of the night with the patrols, then lingered at the station house most of the day on follow-up. This applied most of all when Arria Silvia was furious with him for some reason.

I grinned. `Thought you might need to feed the cat again.' He refused to rise.

It was still too early for lunch. A wise man doesn't stroll home halfway through the morning as if he has nothing else to do. He allows time for the cheese and olives to be bought and set out on the table, then he comes in looking as if he has made a special effort to fit in being with his family.

We discussed what we could do. Other than plug away with routine questioning, the answer seemed to be, not much. `I really hate this part,' fretted Petro. `Just sitting back, waiting for a tribe of rats to spring something.'

`They'll make a mistake in the end.'

`And how many have to suffer in the meantime?' He felt responsible.

`We both know it will he as few as you can make it. Listen, Rubella wanted me to check up on the Balbinus background in case anything was relevant to what's going on now.' At my mention of Rubella, Petro scoffed though in a fairly routine manner. He had no particular grouse. He just hated officers.

He would hate Rubella rather more personally if he ever found out that thanks to him I was spying on the cohort for suspected graft.

I tried again. `What about the Balbinus men?'

Petro answered this one quite calmly. `As far as I know, Little Icarus, the Miller and all the rest of the mob are still out of Rome. Lying low. I have a pet squealer who lets me know their movements. I can nose him out and check, but if they had been seen in the city he would almost certainly have come to sell me the information.',

`When I interviewed Nonnius there was mention of the Balbinus family, which sounded interesting.'

Again Petro favoured me with a short bark of laughter. `The wife's a mean bitch. Flaccida.'

`And there's a daughter?'

`The lovely Milvia! Their only child. She had education and culture lavished on her – a classic case of crooks with too much money trying to better themselves through their offspring.'

`Brought up like a vestal. So did she go to the bad?' I asked dryly. I had seen that happen.,

`Funnily enough, not apparently. Milvia turned out as innocent as rosebuds – if you believe her version. She claims she never knew what her papa did for a living. She's been married off to an equestrian who had some money of his own – one Florius, son of a minor official. Florius never intended himself to be better than anyone. He goes to the races most of the time. I don't think he's ever been known to do anything else.-?

'So he's not involved in criminal activities?'

`Other than having more money to bet with than anyone deserves, no.'

`There was a large dowry then.'

`Probably,' said Petro. `Balbinus kept the details obscure. Suffice it to say, Milvia and Florius live in style, apparently having little to do with each other but both content to stick it out in harness. This leads me to suppose there is cash which they want to keep their hands on.'

`Fascinating. I might go and see these colourful folk.'

`I thought you might.'

Petronius would probably have come with me but just then a messenger from Rubella hurried up. Since Nonnius had been a judicial informer of some importance, his sudden death had caused questions from on high. Rubella wanted Petronius at the cohort headquarters to prepare a report.

Petro growled. `This is how crimes go unsolved! Instead of asking painful questions of villains, I spend my time helping Rubella make up., lies. Falco, if you're wandering among the Balbinus set, you ought to have a witness with you. I can't spare anyone just now. Wait until this afternoon and I'll find someone.'

`I don't need a nanny.'

`Take a witness!' he growled. `With this bunch it's policy.'

`Is that why Fusculus made sure he came with me when I went to see Nonnius?'

`Fusculus is a decent, well-trained agent.'

Trained to interfere with me, apparently. Annoyed, I found the thought off cheese and olives reasserting itself. `Well if I have to wait for a minder, I'll nip off home. Send whoever it is to Fountain Court, will you?'

`You're getting soft!' he snorted.

I wanted to explain that Helena was pregnant, but it seemed too soon after I had so firmly denied it. With yet more guilt depressing me, I left him to pacify his tribune while I sauntered off to see my girl.

XXXII

A SMALL SERIOUS figure greeted me as I turned into Fountain Court.

`Uncle Marcus! May Mercury god of the crossroads ever watch over you!'

Only Maia's eldest boy, Marius, ever sounded off so formally. He was a good-looking, extremely solemn little person, eight years old and completely self-possessed.

'Io, Marius! I was not expecting you until after afternoon school. Are you particularly fond of me, or just very short. of money for pastries?'

`I've organised a rota for you. Cornelius will be on guard duty this afternoon, then Ancus. You should pay me, and I'll do the sharing out.' Maia had made all her children excellent foremen. Both I and my rubbish were in safe hands. But his mind appeared to be somewhere else. `We have a crisis,' he announced, as if I were a partner in disaster. Marius believed in the sanctity of personal relationships: I was family; I would help.

The best help to offer was the sacred art of spotting trouble and bunking off the other way. `Well I'm very busy on official business. But I'm always available if you need advice.'

`I'm afraid I'm heading for a row,' confessed Marius, walking with me towards the apartment. `I expect you would like me to tell you what has transpired.'